The Princess and the Captain
by MlleLaurethiel1138OG
Summary: An Elven Princess. A Ranger Captain. A time of strife. A fateful Council. Choices will be made. Actions will be taken. A Man’s life will change forever. A BoromirOC DramaRomance, slight AU. BOOK I CHAPTER 3 ADDED!
1. Foreword

Title : **_The Princess and the Captain_**

Summary:

An Elven Princess. A Ranger Captain. A time of strife. A fateful Council.  
Choices will be made. Actions will be taken. A Man's life will change forever.  
A Boromir/OC Drama/Romance, slight AU.

Disclaimer:

_The Lord of the Rings_, _The Silmarillion_, _The Hobbit_ and _The Unfinished Tales_ are the work of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and the rights to those works pertain to Christopher Tolkien and the Tolkien Estate. The movies are the property of New Line Cinema and Peter Jackson. This story is but a humble offering in homage to the Master's works, and I seek no reward of it, except the pleasure of sharing it with my fellow Tolkienites. The only things that are mine are any Original Character and the plotline I'll be weaving. Nothing else.

Thanks:

To the Professor, without whom I wouldn't even be acquainted with Middle-Earth to begin with, to Peter Jackson and New Line for having been brave enough to undertake the mammoth project of making the movies, to Howard Shore for his ever-inspiring soundtrack, to the Encyclopedia of Arda (www(dot)glyphweb(dot)com/arda) for its very complete database of Middle-Earth facts, and to Rachel at The Seat of Kings (www(dot)seatofkings(dot)net) for her wonderful transcripts.

I dedicate this:

To Sean Bean, for his wonderfully inspiring interpretation of Boromir's character in Peter Jackson's movies, which convinced me at last that the Gondorian Captain more than deserved his happy ending.

* * *

Note : prologue to be posted this friday


	2. Prologue

PROLOGUE

"Give me my child!" a voice said. "Give me my son!"

"Not yet, my lady," a quiet voice answered. "There is still more work for you."

The exhausted Elf laying on the bed did not understand at first, so preoccupied was she of the tiny life that had been born out of her very body. Only when the pains began anew did she realise what was going on. Not one but two lives had been nurtured in her womb. It was an event rare enough in the Elven community to startle her, and her last coherent thought was to wonder how such a wondrous thing could have happened.

And the birthing pains began again.

After some time, thought, that difficult labor was over, and she was able to hold her two precious wrapped bundles in her arms, happy with a joy beyond bounds to be blessed with two beautiful lives, not forgetting to thank Iluvatar, the Father Of All, for the marvelous gift He had given her.

A mere moments later, her husband entered the room, eager to meet his heirs. Thranduil King of Greenwood looked at her, and fell into enraptured silence as he took in the picture his sweet wife formed with not one but two very healthy babies.

A few minutes passed, neither wanting to talk, both feeling the magic of the moment and not wanting to disturb it.

But she had to speak, and, with a smile, said, "What shall we name them?"

Thranduil sat next to her, admiring his two precious children. He did not dare wake them up, but quite suddenly, they opened their eyes, and he was startled by their peculiar colouring. The boy had eyes as green as the leaves in the first days of spring, and the girl had eyes as shiny as the midday sun.

So it was decided that the boy would be named Legolas, which in Elvish meant Green-Leaf, and the girl was named Laurethiel, which meant Maiden-Of-Golden-Light.

In time, Legolas's eyes turned a deep aquamarine blue, and his hair kept the pale hue of his father's kin. Laurethiel's eyes turned a deep moss green, and her hair darkened to a fiery pale chestnut, almost as dark as her mother's. And both grew up, unaware of the decisive nature of their destinies.

With the rise of Sauron in the East, Greenwood became Mirkwood, and their mother was killed during an Orc raid. As time went by and hope waned, a Council was summoned by Lord Elrond of Imladris. Thranduil sent his son to Elrond to give him what help Mirkwood could, and his daughter so that she could be safe within the Last Homely House's halls.


	3. Book I Chapter 1A

Mae govannen,

Let me first say how pleased I was to have enthusiastic reviews. Though it is not the first story I publish, it is the one I started first: my character's name became my pseudonym, so that gives you an idea of how long this story has been sitting around. I will be in vacation for the holidays, so I thought I'd post the first part of my first chapter before I went.

And to those who expressed their doubts about Laurethiel being a mary-sue, I shall endeavour to prove them wrong.

But for the moment, enjoy!

Namarië,

Laurethiel

* * *

BOOK I – THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING 

CHAPTER 1 – MANY MEETINGS

Part A

* * *

Laurethiel could not wait to get to Imladris. From the moment her brother had told her they were going there on a mission for their father, Thranduil, she had been overjoyed to be able to see her dear friend Arwen again. How she missed her! And how she missed to be able to wander free in the woods! For Mirkwood was become one of the darkest places in all Middle-Earth. Orcs were everywhere, raiding the forest under the orders of the Dark Lord Sauron. 

The mere thought of this name sent shivers down the spine of the most courageous, and Laurethiel was not immune to the fear that name evoked. All of Middle-Earth would soon see the fiercest battle of them all.

Laurethiel had known for a long time this final war was coming. She was feeling it in her blood, in the very air she breathed, in the forebodings she received. Something would happen that would forever change the course of events, something that, for better of for worse, would bring about the end of the Elves in Middle-Earth. And her young heart was filled with sorrow at the thought that she would not see her homeland for much longer before she at last sailed West. Or, may the Valar forbid, her spirit went to the Halls of Mandos.

She was jolted from her wanderings by her brother. Tugging slightly on her braid to call her attention, he said, "Wake up, sister mine. We are nearing Imladris."

And it was true. They rounded a path that circled a steep hill, and there they saw it. The Last Homely House, in all its splendor. A waterfall was cascading down a small cliff, giving birth to the Bruinen. The house of Elrond was waiting just beyond it, a jewel of calm and peace in an otherwise dark and sorrowful world.

They passed the Imladris Guard without any difficulties, for they had long been recognised as the Mirkwood delegation to Lord Elrond. Indeed they had been awaited, and the twins Elladan and Elrohir sons of the Half-Elven Lord of Imladris Elrond Peredhil were there to welcome their fellow Prince and Princess after their long journey. They swiftly moved their mounts to flank brother and sister, Elladan on the left and Elrohir on the right, making an imposing calvacade even for Elven eyes to see.

The gates of Imladris were opened for them to pass, and they dismounted, giving back to their horses the freedom they craved. Laurethiel had only the time to take care of her belongings before she heard herself be called.

"Laurethiel!"

Turning her head in the direction of that voice, she soon recognized its owner.

"Arwen!"

The two friends rushed to embrace each other again, in what would seem to a Man's eye as a vastly un-Elvish display of affection born out of a strong and lasting childhood friendship. Neither cared that Arwen's hairstyle undid itself, nor that her gown got dirtied in the process. As they separated, each took the time to see the changes the last thousand years had brought upon them.

Laurethiel could hardly believe her own two eyes. Long gone was the mischievous elf girl that liked to play pranks on her older brothers. In her place, ruined hairstyle and stained gown notwithstanding, stood a princess sure of her place in the world, a princess so overwhelmingly beautiful that she outshone everything in her vicinity. Arwen truly was another Luthien Tinuviel. An evenstar. _Undomiel_.

Arwen found that her friend had grown greatly, becoming a maiden on the very brink of womanhood. She had an air about her that was definitely adult, even though by Elvish standards she was still but a child. Yet for all the wisdom Arwen felt in Laurethiel, she felt also a remnant of the youth she had been, a restlessness that she herself did not feel anymore. Laurethiel had not yet reached her full potential, and Arwen felt that many things would happen in a near future that would make her friend become what she should be.

"Come, Lotwen," Arwen said, using her guest's Mother-Name of Flower-Maiden, seldom used, and only by close relations. "I must show you around. You will be able to see what has changed. And after, we will go to my rooms so that you can rest before the feast tonight." She looked at Laurethiel in the eye before adding, "And do not even think not to come. It has been too long a time I have been deprived of your company, and would have you be with me this eve."

Laurethiel recognized the commanding tone her friend used, and she knew better than to argue. But she also noticed the tone had taken an imperious edge it had not had before. She could thus do nothing else but nod her assent, and follow Elrond's daughter through her reacquaintance with Imladris.

They strolled in the gardens, taking in a beauty that was unique and Imladris's own, basking in the feel of the trees surrounding them, welcoming the rays of the Sun on their arms, filling their nostrils with the scent of moss, flowers and wild berries.

She saw where trees had grown and where trees had died, she saw new beds of elanor, niphredil and other flowers, set in a soothing pattern along the many paths of the garden of Imladris.

Suddenly, they found themselves in a place that did not exist at Laurethiel's last visit, many hundred years ago. It was a more secluded part of the garden, where a statue was erected. There was a sadness about that place that seized Laurethiel's heart, and she couldn't help but ask her friend the cause of such a feeling.

"This is the tomb of Gilraen, devoted wife to the late Arathorn and caring mother to Aragorn II, heir to the throne of Gondor."

There was a tremor in Arwen's voice as she recounted to her friend the sad story of such a noble lady, and her eyes lit up as she told of Aragorn, of how brave and courageous he was, and how he despaired of ever being able to live up to the destiny he saw before him.

Laurethiel sensed that there was more, that Arwen was hiding her true feelings. But she didn't press her friend further on. Arwen would tell her when she was ready.

"But I see am boring you," Arwen said, "and forgetting how tired you must be from your journey. Come! In my rooms you will be able to take a bath and scrub the dirt from your trip."

They crossed the gardens toward the house, and Arwen led Laurethiel through a maze of halls and stairs, to her rooms.

As everything in Imladris, Arwen's rooms were nothing short of spectacular.

Her canopy bed, made of the rarest woods and decked with the finest silks, stood in the center of the room. At its left was a vanity complete with mirrors and chair. To the right of the bed, there vere two doors, one leading to a private bathroom, the other to an impresive wardrobe.

Arwen led her friend to the bathroom, urging her to undress and soak into a bath.

"Even as you are come for an extended stay, I don't suppose you brought anything suitable to wear for a feast, so as you relax in the water, I will look into my wardrobe to see what I can lend you tonight."

"But, Arwen!"

"No buts, Lotwen You are going to go. Because you want to. And I know it."

Laurethiel smiled, nodding her agreement. And slipped behind the curtain.

* * *

Half an hour later, Laurethiel emerged from the bathroom. 

Even expecting the best from her friend, she was caught by the sheer beauty of the dress Arwen presented her with. It was a shimmering creation of pale green interwoven with the most delicate golden filligree. It reminded her of the first leaves of spring in Mirkwood, fragile yet strong, beautiful in its simplicity.

"It is a gown I do not wear often. It is so pale it makes even me, an Elf, look sick, unless I am really in a good mood, but on your matte skin, it will do wonders. The green will enhance your eyes, and the gold will bring out the copperish highlights in your chestnut hair."

Together they dressed, reminding themselves of more cheerful times, of when they were young children playing dress-up, of when the threat of the Dark Lord wasn't as strong as it was now.

While Arwen was arranging Laurethiel's hair, she managed to gather enough courage to finally tell her of her decision. She would bind herself to Aragorn, and forsake her immortality.

"Lotwen, you cannot begin to imagine what it is to love and to know you are loved in return. Even Father doesn't understand, as much as he loves Mother. He does not understand that I simply could not go on living without Aragorn. Even if I go into the West with Ada, I know I shall die. If not from from a mortal death, from heartbreak..." With barely contained anguish, she cried, "I may be the Evenstar, but Aragorn is both my Sun and my Moon!"

Arwen had been holding this secret for too long, and in a very uncontrolled display of emotion, she allowed streams of tears to run down her face.

Laurethiel did not know what to do. Usually, it was Arwen who comforted her, not the other way around. So she did what came first to her mind. She led her friend to the bed and gathered her in her arms, letting Arwen shed the tears she so desperately needed to get out.

"Arwen, Arwen! Come, you must get hold of yourself," she whispered after a while, still stroking her friend's hair. "I feel for you, and I understand your need to cry, but we must finish to arrange ourselves, or we will be late for the feast."

"You are right. I shall not let myself fall to pieces. Not when Aragorn needs me to be strong. Not when the fate of Middle-Earth is about to be decided."

With an angry and decisive gesture, she swept the last tears from her face and composed herself again. She would show to all the world tonight that she was worth the title of Evenstar.

And she silently thanked her friend for her support, embracing her one last time before sailing out of her chambers, Laurethiel trailing behind her.

Just out of the banquet room, they met with Lord Elrond of Imladris, who was waiting for his daughter to arrive before going in himself. A lord had to go in with a lady, and since her mother's passing into the West, that duty had fallen to Arwen.

But before going in, she took care of introducing her friend.

"Father, forgive me if we are late. I met again with a dear friend of mine, and in our reacquaintance, we did not see the hour pass." Lord Elrond smiled ever so slightly. His daughter was not that late, and it had been so long since he had seen her so happy!

"Father, may I again introduce Princess Laurethiel Lotwen of Mirkwood, daugther of Thranduil King of Mirkwood and twin sister to Prince Legolas. Laurethiel, it is my great pleasure to have you meet again my father, Lord Elrond of Imladris."

Laurethiel remembered enough of her protocol lessons in time to fall into a gracefully proper curtsey before Elrond. The Elvish lord seemed to have been pleased enough, for he announced she would sit with her brother at the high table tonigth.

"But, my lord...," she started. She did not want to seem impolite, but all she really wanted was to go in, eat, and go to the gardens as soon as she could. Big gatherings were not her style at all.

"You will do well, child. Do not worry." Elrond smiled, trying to reassure her.

Laurethiel hated to be called a _child. _She was two thousand nine hundred and thirty one years old, after all. But it was true. For an Elf, she was extremely young. One of the last to ever be born in Middle-Earth. As for dining at the high table, well, it seemed she would have no choice. She would only have to be patient and bid her time until she could escape from all this noisy business. And at least she would be with her brother. It _could_ have been worse.

* * *


	4. Book I Chapter 1B

Mae govannen,

I hope you haven't waited too long. Between the Holidays and the coming exams, I haven't had much time for myself. Anyhow, let me present you without further ado the completion of Chapter 1. I hope you'll like it.

Namarië,

Laurethiel1138

* * *

CHAPTER 1 

PART B

Boromir was bored. Excruciatingly bored. He had never cared much for parties, anyway. Ah! to be in a battlefield! Now that was time well spent! Feasts... boring social events where one was supposed to smile at every given person that went into one's path. His father Denethor had hopelessly tried to ingrain the notion that at such parties were formed the connections he would need as a Steward of Gondor, that he needed to polish his social skill with as much enthusiasm as he sharpened the edge of his sword. But Boromir could not care less.

He was a man of action, a man who made quick and efficient decisions that did not need to be discussed for hours. The simplest path between two points was a straight line, not some complicated twists and turns the weak ones used to worm their way into power circles. Boromir liked to go forward, not clumsily advancing two steps and fearfuly backing one.

So when he had arrived at Rivendell, he had expected to have his questions answered, and then to go back home. He had not expected an Elf Lord to ask him to stay for a while, and enjoy his house's hospitality in the meantime. Boromir had thought it quite fine at the beginning, for he had been greatly tired from his non-stop three-month trip from the White Citadel, but he was beginning to regret it. Lord Elrond had never mentioned there would be any party!

He was jolted from his musings by the sound of music. He gathered someone important was entering the great hall, but he could not know who it was. They did not teach the refinements of Elvish music in Minas Tirith. They were far too busy pushing back whatever evil the land of Mordor vomited.

The great doors opened.

And Lord Elrond entered.

At his side was the most wondrous sight of all: his beloved daughter, Arwen Evenstar, who, by her mere presence, seemed to bring into the hall all the light of Valinor. Behind her was another lady, who seemed far plainer in comparison to the Lady of Rivendell. Boromir would have been at a loss to explain why she suddenly captivated him so, even as he suspected he would have found her beautiful in her own right, had he seen her alone.

But what a wealth of hair she had! Shorter than Elven standards dictated, it nevertheless reached down to her hips. And what a glorious colour! It reflected every single ray of light in the room, setting fire to the pale chestnut strands. Boromir didn't know how such a wonderful colour existed. Neither in the fair-headed people of Rohan nor in the dark-haired people of Gondor had he seen such a unique shade.

Laurethiel had entered the great hall of Imladris with a practised ease that hid well her nervousness. For all the world, she truly had not expected to sit at the high table! She had imagined she would have to find herself a spot at one of the secondary tables. But she could not complain, so she set herself out to enjoy the evening to its fullest. There would be enough worrying come tomorrow, she thought, so she might as well enjoy what respite was given to her.

Suddenly, she felt strange. She knew she was being observed, and slowly, she let her eyes wander on the crowd.

It did not take her a long time to pinpoint the source of her discomfort. A Man was there, at the far end of the high table, observing her. She knew better than to let him suspect she had caught him, however, and followed Elrond and Arwen to their seats, before trying to locate her brother.

She was quick to locate his fair head, and stepped over to the empty seat near her brother's.

"Hi, Legolas," she said as she sat down. "Missing some company here, aren't you?"

"Laurethiel! I was presently wondering when you would come to join me."

"I have been with Arwen, as you might well remember. She has changed so much. I swear I almost did not recognize her. But you know that already, as you have just seen her make an entrance with Lord Elrond."

"Indeed." Legolas smiled at his sister. Every day, he thanked Iluvatar for having given him such a wonderful sibling. Because whatever you did, your kin were still your kin. And you were stuck with them all your life. So you had better be in good terms with them, for an Elven life was a long life indeed: spending an eternity hating someone really was too much a waste of good energy.

Unbeknownst to Laurethiel, Boromir had kept following her with his eyes. He had seen her gracefuly bow to Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen. He had seen her locate her seat, then start an easy conversation with her male companion.

He concentrated his attention back to his plate, and did not notice the time pass, nor the Elven lady raising up after a while, asking for Elrond's permission to retire, and head out of the hall. When he raised his head, she was gone.

An evening of songs and storytelling was held afterwards.

* * *

Boromir, not feeling up to it, quietly slipped out of the hall to walk a bit around Rivendell. It was a rare chance he got to see the Last Homely House, and he intended to profit from the night to have an undisturbed visit. 

He walked for a long time, not really caring where his steps were leading him. He simply took in the calm of the place after the noise of the Great Hall. He did not like to be with too much people. He much prefered to be with his score of soldiers raiding the borders of Ithilien than with his father learning the fineries of diplomacy. He liked his father well enough. That was not the problem. He simply felt that he was very much ill-suited for the duties he would have to endure as Steward of Gondor. He, for one, thought that his brother, Faramir the scholar, would make a better Steward than he. Was that his fault that Denethor did not understand? Was that his fault that _he_ was cursed enough to be born the first?

If he could, he would gladly give the stewardship over to his younger brother. But tradition dictated the firstborn son took the title. And unfortunately for him, he had to uphold this absurd tradition as well.

He did no notice his steps had carried him in the Hall of Remembrance until he raised his eyes. He let his gaze trail over the magnificent murals the Elves had painted in memory of the War of the Last Alliance. Everything was light and airy, lending a dream-like quality to the scenes depicted there.

A particular mural retained his attention: Isildur vainquishing Sauron.

He heard a noise in a corner of the room, and, with knife-sharp instincs, he turned toward the source of the noise. A Man was there. Surprised, Boromir said, "You are no Elf."

The stranger's eyes studied him attentively. Then the Man said, "Men of the South are welcome here."

Startled at the hidden authority behind that voice, and wondering how its owner would have so easily determined from where he came, Boromir asked, "Who are you?"

And the Man enigmaticaly answered, "I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey."

Gandalf the Grey, Boromir thought. Well, this at least explained that the Man would speak in riddles. Nevertheless, Boromir found strange that this Man would not name himself. Uneasily, Boromir concluded this exchange saying, "Then we are here on common purpose," and he hesitated, not knowing how to address this stranger, before quickly adding "Friend" at the end of his sentence.

He turned his back to his mysterious interlocutor and again directed his attention to the mural of Isildur. He knew the legends, knew Isildur should have thrown the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. Yet in his heart he could understand Isildur's reaction to the Ring. How could anyone stay of ice in front of such an object? How could anyone turn one's back from the source of such power?

He walked towards the statue holding the shards of Narsil, not truly believing the legendary sword was really there. He had heard so much of that sword!

He took the handle in his hands, needing to feel it in his palms, to feel the weapon that cut the finger holding Isildur's Bane, Sauron's ring. He ran his finger on the edge of the blade. To his surprise, he cut himself.

"Still sharp," he uttered. He had expected the edge to be dull after so many years.

Suddenly, he felt a shiver running down his spine. What was he doing? He could not hold Narsil! The great sword wasn't his to take. It was the King's sword, and his alone! No one but the rightful Sovereign Ruler of Gondor had the right to touch it.

For a nauseating moment, Boromir felt sacrilegious.

He sensed the stranger's gaze on him, boring through him like a knife. Boromir looked at him, feeling much like a child chastised by his father.

"Nothing more than a broken heirloom," he said in pure bravado.

He dropped the sword.

And without so much of a glance at the Man, he fled from the hall.

* * *


	5. Book I Chapter 2

Mae govannen, my readers!

After some demanding exams and the start of the new term, I am pleased to give you the next chapter in my story. I hope you will enjoy it.

Without further ado, here it is.

* * *

CHAPTER 2 – THE COUNCIL OF ELROND

"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it." Thus Lord Elrond Half-Elven opened his long-awaited Council.

"You will unite, or you will fall," he continued. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

Laurethiel had an awful premonition. No, it couldn't be! It just couldn't...

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Laurethiel watched in mute disbelief as the Hobbit approached the central plinth in Elrond's Council Chamber. And deposited Isildur's Bane on it.

"So it is true!"

This was no more than a whisper. But Laurethiel heard each word distinctly. She turned her head in the direction of the voice, saw Boromir of Gondor rise from his seat and, as if under a spell, walk towards the Ring. His eyes had taken an empty look they didn't have when he had entered the Council Chamber. Then, his eyes had shone with all the Gondorian pride and determination he could muster. He had entered the Council with a confident stride, a hand on his sword and the other on the Horn of Gondor, willing all to see how brave he was, and defying anyone to tell him the contrary.

Laurethiel had had trouble recognizing her silent admirer from the night before, so sullen had he been in the Great Hall. Only then had she taken the full measure of the Man, realizing his purpose for being there. His warrior strenght had suddenly filled the room, in sharp contrast to Aragorn's quiet power, to the Elven nature she was used to, unsettling Laurethiel more than she would ever care to admit.

As she was thinking, Boromir said, "In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying : 'Your Doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.' Isildur's Bane." he added, extending his arm.

As Boromir's hand neared the One Ring, Gandalf rose from his seat. All of a sudden, he seemed to take majestic proportions, filling the room with his very presence. Putting in his voice all the might he could summon, he pronounced the fateful words that had forever changed the history of Middle-Earth.

"_Ash Nazg durbatulûk…_"

Laurethiel felt her eyelids growing heavy with the effect of those words, and was seized with the fear that they would close for good. To hear the Black Speach of Mordor in Imladris!

"_Ash Nazg gimbatul…_"

No, This could not be! She clutched her hands to her ears, hoping to silence the dread that was seizing her. Her heart was beating faster. And faster.

"_Ash Nazg trakatulûk…_"

A sudden pain twisted her stomach, forbidding her to take another breath. Laurethiel felt as if she was dying. She couldn't feel the world around her anymore.

"_Agh Bruzum-ishi krimpatul._ "

With a moan of repressed anguish, she doubled over in terror, feeling all the malice in the words, seeing the Great Eye even as she heard them. Would Gandalf stop! She could not bear things any longer!

Legolas slowly calmed down. He noticed Laurethiel, still caught up in her vision.

By the star of Earendil, he had known she shouldn't have come! He had known she would get one of her forsaken visions! With concern etched on his features, he put a hand on her shoulder, attempting to shake her from her trance.

After a long, drawn-out moment that seemed more like ages, Laurethiel got herself under control again. With a sheepish smile, she looked at her brother, silently thanking him for the comfort he had just given her. The Valar be blessed, her ordeal was over.

Elrond spoke anew. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," he said.

Gandalf, his voice seemingly weary from such an effort, replied to Lord Elrond's question, "I do not beg your pardon, Master Elrond. For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil."

Laurethiel's eye was drawn back to Boromir, who had gone back to his seat, and had started to caress his beard, obviously thinking.

After a few seconds of surprise and fear, Boromir had realised the power of the Ring and let his thoughts run wild. _What if we could unleash the power of the Ring on its master? What a wondrously ironical thing would it be!_

"It is a gift... a gift to the foes of Mordor!" He did not notice the shocked expressions on the Elves' faces as he stood up, getting more passionate. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay... By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy... Let us use it against him!"

Laurethiel couldn't believe her ears... What! To do such a thing! Did not Boromir realise it would be playing right into the Enemy's hands? Someone had to tell him. Someone _had_ to!

"You cannot wield it. None of us can," Aragorn said in a firm voice. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master," he added. For one fleeting moment, Laurethiel felt in his voice the strength of old Numenor. Maybe there was still hope for Middle-Earth... _Estel_...

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" A Ranger? Did Boromir not know he was speaking to the heir of Gondor? Laurethiel was about to voice her thoughts when her brother declared: "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir, surprised to say the least, looked at Aragorn, at last recognizing the Man he saw the night before. How foolish he must have seemed to him, holding Narsil! Still, in his heart, he could not give him his allegiance. _Not yet_. If the Ranger wanted to be King, he had first to prove himself worthy of the title.

With a voice filled with disbelief, he said, "Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?"

Legolas insisted: "And heir to the throne of Gondor."

Laurethiel looked at Boromir, looked at his face. She did not need her fleeting magical powers to guess at what Boromir was thinking. But her abilities, heightened by Gandalf's use of the Black Speech, made her painfuly aware of his thoughts.

_My King! My King! Is it possible? But why are you without a crown? Why did you choose exile? Oh, Lord Aragorn, where are you when your people need you most? Where are you, descendant of the Royal Line of Numenor? When shall you come and reclaim what is rightfully yours? Long have we waited for you… You know it, yet you do not come!_

She vaguely heard Aragorn asking her brother to calm down, to let Boromir come to terms with the news himself. But the damage was done already.

Boromir lowered his eyes, and, with a voice filled with bitter disapointment, declared, "Gondor has no King. Gondor needs no King."

Laurethiel told herself she should have anticipated such a statement. Yet she was as shocked as anyone else. It was a small wonder in itself that she did not have her mouth open in stunned disbelief.

Gandalf, undeterred by events he had somewhat foreseen, brought everybody's attention back to the matter at hand. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

Elrond took his cue, emphasizing Gandalf's point, "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

Out of the corner of her eyes, Laurethiel saw movement that converted itself in the shape of a Dwarf, heading mightily towards the Ring, brandishing his axe. "Then what are we waiting for?" he asked, bringing his weapon down onto Sauron's creation.

Only the result was not what he expected. Instead of the Ring being thoroughly smashed, his very own axe was brought to pieces in a powerful clangor that reverberated itself deep into Laurethiel's heart.

The dwarf looked at the handle of his axe, still in his hand, wondering what in Middle-Earth had happened to destroy his weapon so completely. Dwarf-made craft were reputed to be indestructible.

Or so he'd thought, at least...

With a mournful sigh for his beloved axe, the Dwarf got back to his seat.

Smiling ever so slightly at the Dwarf's behaviour, Elrond answered the question everyone was silently asking themselves. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloïn, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.

"One of you must do this."

Laurethiel had not heard this one last bit right. No. This could not be. To go into Mordor, to go into the Forsaken Land, without being detected by the Dark Lord, and to cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom? _Oh, Iluvatar, what fate have you cast upon your children?_ Laurethiel did not think one could accomplish such an impossible task.

As if voicing her own doubts, Boromir said, "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever-watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air that you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Legolas spoke again, decided to talk some sense into this stubborn Man. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!"

_Stupid Elves, _Gimli thought._ Always thinking they know what's best for us mortals. Always assuming we have no wits to decide our own future_. Feeling himself on the edge of becoming _very_ angry, he said with barely restrained fury, "And I suppose you think _you're_ the one to do it!"

"And if we fail, what then?" Boromir said, voicing everybody's deepest fear. "What happens when Sauron takes back what's his?" Indeed, Laurethiel thought. Failure was a possibility no one seemed to take into account, least of all Lord Elrond... Or maybe not... He had been there when Isildur had failed. Maybe it was that he was too afraid that the Quest would go astray that he didn't want to acknowledge the possibility in front of others. Because if _he_ showed signs of doubt, then who would not?

Her attention, sent away for one moment, centered itself back to the present when she heard Gimli say, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!"

Suddenly, the beings gathered in this Council lost all pretense of being civilized. This insult was one too many. All the hatred nurtured during millenia gathered itself in a river that showered the occupants of the Council with its blinding strength. Elves and Dwarves stood up bickering and arguing over who should carry the task set before them.

Laurethiel vaguely heard Gimli shouting "Never trust an Elf!". And she should have been incensed, as she was an Elf herself.

But she was not.

Instead, she was seeing things with an exceptional clarity. Did they not realize they were acting exactly as Sauron wanted? By arguing instead of unifying themselves, they gave way to Sauron's dark forces. Only by fighting under the same banner could they hope to ultimately defeat the Dark Lord.

Gandalf tried to have them see reason. But to no avail. The Ring was already unleashing its destructive work upon all present.

Almost.

For one being here did not know the temptation of power.

Frodo, silent for a long time, stood up and said, "I will take it! I will take it!"

As suddenly as the tempest erupted, it calmed itself. All were silent as Frodo advanced himself and declared in a voice he wanted firm and strong, "I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though...," he hesitated, "though I do no know the way."

An immense wave of relief swept Gandalf's frown away. Maybe this quest would be on its way, after all. And he would be there to help.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins. As long as it is yours to bear."

A regal and determined voice shot clearly though the air. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." Aragorn stepped forward, his face bearing no trace of doubt. He knelt in front of Frodo and added, "You have my sword."

_Yes_, Laurethiel thought, there _was_ still hope...

She felt movement to her left, and saw her brother rise and march to Frodo. As he neared the Halfling, he said with his most solemn voice, "And you have my bow."

Laurethiel, too, had risen from her seat ever since Aragorn had spoken. In the confines of her mind, a decision had formed itself, of its own volition. It was as if a voice was speaking to her, a voice that told her to go and join the Quest. A voice that said her presence was absolutely necessary even though it seemed more of a hindrance at present. She had to, even as she knew that the conservative Lord Elrond would most certainly object to her disruptive female presence. It had already been no small a wonder that he had allowed her into this Council.

But she knew she wouldn't be able to put the feeling to rest.

_Forgive me, Ada!_

In the most daring move of her already long life, she quelled the butterflies she felt in the pit of her stomach, went forward and declared in a low but firm voice, "And mine."

Elrond allowed his eyes to widen. And was about to tell Laurethiel she couldn't possibly think of commiting herself in such a way. But a silent plea from Gandalf stopped him. Indeed, for all his wisdom, it didn't feel _wrong_ to let the Elven maiden in this quest...

Legolas realised the Elven Lord did not object to his sister's pledge. But even as he accepted her choice, he couldn't help but feeling his heart tighten as he thought of the trials his dearest Lotwen would have to endure. This quest might be anything, but it most certainly wasn't a mere stroll in the garden...

As of Gimli, he thought he'd die before he let Elves go and take control of all this. It would definitively not be said that Dwarves let the Elves do all the work and did not commit themselves. They would see what a Dwarf was made of, that much was sure! With resolute steps, he approached Frodo, locked his gaze with the Hobbit's, and said in a gruff voice, "And you have my axe."

Boromir walked slowly towards Frodo, fully realizing the determination that moved the beings here. Wondering much, he said to Frodo, "You carry the fates of us all, little one."

Laurethiel felt in her mind the echo of a fleeting determination to be strong and to uphold the values of the White Tower. She looked at Boromir, who said, with a resigned yet resolute expression as he put himself beside those already commited to the quest, "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

Laurethiel looked over at Lord Elrond, who seemed about to make a declaration, when a small voice coming from the bushes behind her interupted, "Here!"

Laurethiel wouldn't have missed the moment for anything in the world. For a split second, Lord Elrond looked as if he couldn't decide if he should be angry, shocked, amused or pleased that this Halfling had irrupted into a secret Council.

The Hobbit Laurethiel would later know as Samwise Gamgee boldly declared as he put himself beside the Ringbearer, "Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me!"

Amazingly enough, Lord Elrond managed to seem as if he was both scolding and praising the daring Hobbit as he said, "No, indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you from him, even if he is summoned to a secret council, and _you_ are _not_."

From the open doorway, another voice manifested itself.

"Oi! We're coming, too!"

Laurethiel turned her head, and saw not one but _two_ more Hobbits run towards Frodo. And plant themselves firmly in the ground.

Meriadoc Brandybuck said, "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

Laurethiel smiled as they engaged themselves in friendly banter.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission... quest... thing...", Peregrin Took emphasized.

And Merry was quick to remark, "Well, that rules you out, Pip!"

Lord Elrond cleared his throat to get back everybody's attention. If he had been unsettled by the unforeseen additions to the company, his hesitations were laid to rest as his face took its most solemn and serious expression.

"Nine Walkers and one Elf-maiden," he declared. "Indeed we shall need all the help we can muster against the Nine Wraiths, and then some. So be it!" he said with a flourish. With a proud and majestic voice, he concluded, "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

As much as she was taken by the import of the moment, as much as she was supposed to be a sedate and composed Elf, Laurethiel could not help but desperately want to giggle when she heard Pippin characteristically ask, "Great!... Where are we going?"


	6. Book I Chapter 3

Mae govannen, my readers!

I am deeply sorry for the lack of updates. My life has been hectic for the last few months, and more immediate matters required my attention.

I want to tell you I haven't forgotten you, and that each and every review was read with care, even as they reminded me I needed to update this story.

To make up for the long wait, I give to you the full third chapter of my story. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as the other ones.

Without further ado...

Namarië,

Lauré :)

* * *

CHAPTER 3 – THE RING GOES SOUTH

* * *

Laurethiel, sitting upon her bed, was slowly coming to realise the extent of the burden she had placed upon her shoulders in the Council hall, when a knock was heard in direction of the doorway. Raising her head, she saw Arwen there. 

"I am not bothering you?" she asked, as she came in with a long cloth-covered item.

"No," Laurethiel answered, then added, "but I was wondering if I made the right decision. For this is no small goal I have set before myself. Is it beyond my abilities? Should I really go on the Fellowship's quest?"

"This is only for you to determine, my friend," Arwen said. "But I can give you one thing that will most surely help you in your journey," she added, taking out the bundle she had entered with.

She unwrapped the cloth covering it to reveal a very finely crafted bow made of the most delicate wood ingraved with gold filigree.

"I would like to give you this, Laurethiel of Mirkwood. It is my mother's bow, made of the wood of the Lothlorien forest. She gave it to me when she went into the West, hoping it would be again of some use here in Middle-Earth, as she would not need it in the Undying Lands. I pray that you would accept this gift, as I would rest easier knowing you had this weapon to defend yourself with. I have oft used it, and I know its aim is true and its range longer than the bows from your home forest."

"I cannot," Laurethiel answered. "It is too precious a gift for you to part with."

"I will have less need of it than you, protected as I will be amongst my father's people. But you will need it, wandering as you will be in the wilderness. Do accept it, if only for my own peace of mind."

Laurethiel smiled. "I will accept it then." And she took the bow, examining the master craftsmanship of the handle, and appreciating the weapon's wonderful balance.

"But there is more I must ask of you," Arwen said. "I must ask of you to watch my Estel for me. Promise me you will watch out for him, for I fear much for his life in this Quest he has set before him. Promise me that you will help our Hope to survive this great test. For I have given my heart to Aragorn, and I could not bear any ill happening to him."

Laurethiel looked in her friend's eyes and saw the anguish there, the concern for her beloved's uncertain fate. And could not help but promise her friend what she asked.

"If I can protect Aragorn," she said, "I shall do it. You have my promise that whenever he will be in my sight, I shall see that he is kept safe, at least as much as the circumstances might allow it. I cannot promise you more, but neither will I promise you less."

"That is all I ever asked of you, Lotwen," Arwen replied.

And the two friends embraced each other, seeking both some comfort in light of the troubled times to come.

* * *

Some time later, as Laurethiel was preparing her gear for the trying times set before her, her brother arrived in her room. 

"I do hope you know what it is exactly that you are doing, Lotwen."

Laurethiel rose her eyes to look squarely at Legolas. "And what would you have me do? Would you have me stand aside and let the Shadow grow in the East? Would you have me stay here as you go, possibly never to come back?" Before he had the time to reply, she went on.

"No brother. Those are things I cannot do, even as I know Father intended for me to stay here with Lord Elrond. I cannot run, hide, nor ignore the pending doom looming upon Middle-Earth. I do not have the Evenstar's patience and fortitude, to stay behind as things happen."

Legolas looked concerned. "But what if something happens to you? I could not live with myself if some ill befell you on this journey. What if..."

Laurethiel cut her brother short. "No, Legolas, don't. Those are only suppositions. You cannot change my mind, brother. I will go. I will not stand idle and do nothing. I will help, if only in a small way."

"I see you are resolute," Legolas conceded with a sigh. "But that does not mean I have to like it."

"No, it doesn't," she spat back.

His mouth curled in a thin smile. "You know I could never refuse you anything, Lotwen."

"And I love you all the more for it. Besides, how many times did I ever ask for something that was not reasonable?"

"Oh, I do not know. But I most certainly could come up with a few examples," he said, his eyebrows raised, a mischievous look creeping on his face.

"Don't you dare," she challenged. "Would you instead help me pack this wretched bag?" she asked, an adorably embarassed smile gracing her face.

Legolas grinned. What would he do without his sister to liven up his life? _Nothing worth one of those smiles of her_, he thought, shaking his head and walking to rescue her from her predicament.

* * *

The matter of the Quest was most urgent, however, and soon all members of the Fellowship were standing before Lord Elrond as he bade them his last farewell. 

"The Ringbearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will."

There was some amount of protest from Gimli's part, as he deemed that an oath could serve to remind one of one's duty, but he soon realised Lord Elrond's intent as it was explained to him that such a reminder could quickly become a burden.

"Farewell," Lord Elrond continued. "Hold to your purpose," he said, looking at each Fellowship member in turn. It seemed to Laurethiel that his eyes had a small twinkle when they set themselves upon her, and she felt bolstered by this small mark of encouragement.

"May the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you," he concluded.

Boromir had heard Lord Elrond, and he understood the need for secrecy in this Quest. Yet it would not be said that Gondor went on this journey through the back door.

Bringing his horn to his lips, he let out two resounding notes.

As every being around swiftly runed their heads towards him, he explained himself. "Though I pray the Horn of Gondor shall not be heard in this travel, let it not be said that Boromir son of Denethor was too much a coward to announce his departure to all in Rivendell. The Sons of Gondor have never gone to war without first blowing in this Horn."

Privately, Laurethiel found such a behaviour to be arrogant, childish and pompous, but she knew it wasn't her place to comment on such an action.

Gandalf, however, wasn't hindered by such protocol. Clearing his throat, he said, "The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer."

Frodo slowly made his way to the Gate of Imladris, and paused for a moment before heading left on the road.

Before going through the Gate of Imladris, Laurethiel's resolve faltered as she was suddenly acutely conscious that this was her last chance to back off from this Quest. For a fraction of a second, she was indeed much tempted to do so. But at the same time, she knew she would not find her rest if she did as her father would have her do.

With a determined stride, she set out of Imladris.

As she crossed the Gate after her brother, Laurethiel didn't notice Aragorn and Arwen exchange one last look of longing before finally going on their separate ways.

* * *

The beginning of the Fellowship's quest was quite simple and straightforward. They had to hold a course West of the Misty Mountains for forty days, and then cross the Gap of Rohan to go Eastward in Mordor's general direction. 

In this first leg of their journey, Laurethiel had ample opportunity to ponder the audacity of her move. She knew her father had intended for her to stay in Imladris with Arwen, and she knew she had disobeyed greatly. But she hadn't been able to help herself. Better than watch the action from afar, she had prefered to be actually doing something about it, at the price of her life if the occasion should arise. If the fate of Middle-Earth was to indeed fall under the Dark Lord's clutches, she would at least have the satisfaction of having done something to prevent it from happening.

Nevertheless, she could not help but wonder why she had ever thought of joining the Fellowship. For no one, least of all Gandalf, paid any attention to the fact that she was a young lady. She had to walk as fast as anyone present, and show as much strenght and resilience to the hardships everyone endured. And the advantages of being an Elf did not truly help, because she obviously could not feel any difference, having been an Elf all of her immortal life. So any difficulties encountered were difficulties for her, too, even if they seemed to bother her less than her short-legged friends.

As they stopped for the night's rest, Laurethiel unpacked her few belongings, setting her bedroll near the fire Aragorn was starting, attempting to make her bed the most comfortable she could. Again, she marveled at how familiar the Hobbits were with Aragorn, chatting away as they waited for the fire to go to a reasonable heat to make some basic cooking. As far as she was concerned, "Strider" would always be "My Lord", "Your Highness", sometimes "Aragorn", and even fewer times his childhood nickname of "Estel", which meant "hope" in Elvish. After all, she _was_ older than him, and could therefore allow herself to consider him like a melancholic little cousin, even if she did so only in the privacy of her own thoughts.

And she marveled that the heir to such a great kingdom would consent to lower himself to such menial tasks as starting a fire. Why, Boromir, being the Man's future Steward, should take upon himself to make his lord comfortable. Yet he seemed hard-pressed to make any such advances towards his liege. Laurethiel frowned at this, but quickly set the thought aside as she was presented with the evening's meal.

Said meal was very frugal, sufficient enough to fill one's belly, yet reduced to the very strict minimum in prevention of future necessities. They discussed of the arrangements for the night's watches, and it was established that they could allow Laurethiel the courteous gesture of taking the last watch with Gandalf, as she seemed a bit tired from this first day's exertions. Aragorn and Boromir would take the first watch, with Legolas and Gimli taking the second one, the latter having declared that he "wanted to keep an eye on this distrustful Elf." The Hobbits, they thought, could as well sleep the whole night through, being less accustomed to demanding travel.

Laurethiel went to her bedroll, set conveniently close to the fire so that she would not wake up starled by the cold. She knew such comforts might be taken away in a second, and set herself to enjoy them when she could. Following that train of thought, she decided to allow herself a full sleep, for the Elves could doze almost anywhere, at anytime, simply retreating into a restful mental place while going on with their activities, in what Men would call sleepwalking. But what Laurethiel nedded, now, was to replenish her strenght in view of restless times to come, and so she laid down on her blanket, letting her eyes glaze over in Elven sleep .

While she peacefully settled into a deep slumber, she failed to notice a pair of eyes trained on her.

For Boromir had been watching her for quite a while, and while he silently sat by Aragorn, he kept wondering what in Middle-Earth the Elf could have been thinking, going on the Quest of the Fellowship.

When he had entered the Council chamber what seemed ages ago already, he had not recognized her at first, so different was she from the Elf-maiden he had seen in the Great Hall. Gone were any jewelry in her long hair, styled in tight braids that kept it away from her face and underlined her fine jaw and pointed ears. Her attire had been different, too. Whereas at the feast she had worn a dress woven of the finest thread, at the Council, she had been wearing her sturdy travel clothing, making her look not unlike so many of her kin, so similar to Legolas Boromir had at first mistaken her for a male.

It was only when she had spoken that he had known her gender, and had been taken aback by her courageous commitment. And in his heart he was incensed against Sauron, that he could make such a fragile-looking female take on a path many men would have been afraid even to consider.

At the farewell ceremony, he had been able to recognise the subtle differences between her clothing and Greenleaf's. Her leggings were tighter on her, and her outer wear consisted in a closely fitted bodice flaring out in a calf-length skirt, slitted in the front for more practicality, keeping her lower body warm so she only needed a short cloak to put on her shoulders.

He had admired from afar how her clothing had complimented her lithe figure, and steadfastly refused to analyse why he had been so relieved that Greenleaf was only her brother. Those were thought better left alone. At least for the moment.

His watch went on, without anything else to signal. But he knew the Enemy would not leave them alone, not for long. For the Ring was here, just by Boromir's side, just within his reach. And Boromir could not help but wonder what powers were hidden in this ring, that so small a thing would cause such turmoil.

* * *

Laurethiel woke with a start when she felt someone poking her shoulder. With lightning reflexes, she unsheated her small dagger to put it below the offender's throat. But relaxed instantly when she realised it was none other than Legolas. 

She grinned at her brother, and any observer who was not apprised of Elvish customs would have found the interaction between brother and sister to be vastly un-Elvish and ungraceful. Yet Gandalf, observing the scene from afar, knew that the Elves let their offspring take liberties a Human child would only dream of: too soon would their unlimited span of life instil in them the necessary wisdom and flawless bearing of their race, and the elder Elves had long since decided to allow their children at least this small time of complete and unadulterated freedom. And as siblings were oft wont to do, the Prince and Princess fell back to more relaxed life patterns when alone.

"At least I know you are still sharp," the Mirkwood Prince said to his sister, taking it with his customary good humour. "Our Captain has thaught you well."

"Brother! You! You are lucky I have a watch turn to do, or else..." she said, pointing a menacing finger at him.

"I know," he answered. "But as you just pointed out, Gandalf's waiting. So up you go, and do not miss anything!"

She saw her brother settle in a restful nap, and went to sit companionably beside Gandalf, shaking herself awake with a sip of clear water and a bite of bread.

"So," the wisened old man said, after a few moments. "What brings such a fine lady as you are on such a terrible adventure?"

Gandalf saw that she was obviously taken aback by the question, not having excpected it at all, and was very much pleased when Laurethiel took sometime to think it through before answering. For self-assessment was the begining of wisdom.

Keeping her eyes and ears open for strange things, she said, "To do something, I guess."

"Oh!" the wizard replied, raising his eyebrows. "And what is that?"

"As it happens," Laurethiel continued, "I understand that Sauron has unleashed all his might to find the One Ring again. And in my heart, I knew I had to do something to help stop his plans, even if it might not be much in the great scheme of things. Even as I know my father intended for me to stay safe in Imladris with Arwen, I also know that the waiting would have been unbearable, especially with my brother going. I do not have Undomiel's unrelenting patience, and I am not really known to stay in the same place for long."

Gandalf sensed that there was another reason for her to go with the Fellowship. "Is that all, truly?" he added.

Laurethiel felt that Gandalf would not let go until he would have received a satisfactory answer. Trying not to sound overly foolish, she said, "No. It is not all.

"It has been sometime yet that I have been troubled with unsettling visions, happening either when I am asleep or awake. They come and go, elusive, but they have all a common theme: destruction. I them, I see the Armies of Sauron taking over Middle-Earth, swallowing it whole and leaving only ruin in their wake... The Magic Wardens in Mirkwood have tried to help me master those visions, but to no avail, and it was the hope of my father that Lord Elrond, as one who possessed the Sight, would be able to give me some guidance in that respect.

"When I was at Lord Elrond's Council, I had one of these visions as I heard you say the words in Black Speech, and I knew I could not stay in Imladris. For there are some things I cannot do. And I could not let the moment pass and do nothing to stop Mordor's armies.

"This is why I am here, hoping I made the right decision, and hoping I will not regret it."

Gandalf had a thoughtful expression for a while, and after a moment reached a decision of his own. "Well," he began, "I suppose I could help you."

Surprised, Laurethiel turned her head and shot a questioning glance at Gandalf.

"Yes, I could help you," the wizard said with a forceful nod. "I may not be Lord Elrond, but it so happens that I do know some extent of magic lore. I could teach you how to harness your visions, and how to channel your magical abilities. After all, I am one of the Istari, and therefore quite apt to teach you what you have to know."

And so it was that Laurethiel's magic training began, under the close scrutiny of Gandalf. And after her first lesson, when it was time to go on southwards, it was established that the current watch turns were a good pattern, and they decided to keep it that way, at least for the moment.

* * *

Many days passed in this fashion, as they relentlessly marched on with iron determination and fresh courage and enthusiasm, wanting their mission to be as quick and painless as possible for all present. Even if they knew Mordor would not leave them be. Because, as daunting as the task set before them would be, it had to be done. 

If the Enemy had not caught on their scent yet, well, it was his problem and his alone. And they would be daft not to take advantage of the opportunity to make a good use of their unhindered path.

Most unfortunately, their luck was not meant to last longer than it should.

But, as yet unaware of the approaching shadow, they made the most of the few breaks they allowed themselves. Boromir and Aragorn decided to make swordsmen yet out of the Halflings, teaching the Hobbits some skills with the blade and polishing the few already acquired. Laurethiel's time was divided between sharpening her reflexes with her brother and learning to master her latent magic powers under Gandalf's close tutelage. Gimli mostly kept to himself, practising swinging his axe, and attempting not to destroy too many things in the process.

Thus it was that they reached a ruin on a plateau at the foot of the Misty Mountains west of Eregion, in the land of Hollin.

They stopped, and – again – the Hobbits dedicated themselves to this most favourite hobby of them: cooking. For it seemed the Hobbits couldn't dream of parting with their cooking gear, even after the sore reminder of the tragic events of the Amon Sul watchtower, in which the Ringbearer had been nearly mortally wounded by a Morgul blade. Indeed, uncooked food amounted to them as nothing short of a very disastrous and disheartening thought. And real, hot food was a commodity they weren't quite ready to part with as of yet.

As Sam helped himself to some recently cooked sausages, Laurethiel took a pause from her own learning to watch Boromir teach Merry and Pippin more swordplay.

"Two, one, five," he shouted, indicating in which fencing position his apprentices should place themselves, initiating a slow attack of his own. As they almost flawlessly moved their weapons, he did not hesitate in complimenting them: "Good! Very good."

But Aragorn, his eye ever sharp, did see a flaw in their movements. "Move your feet," he told them, between two whisps of smoke.

And they repeated the motion again.

Laurethiel continued to watch them with a smile in her heart, as the Hobbits sought to master the not quite familiar art of swordwielding.

However, her smile soon reached her face when, very proudly, she heard Merry declare, "You look good, Pippin!"

As he heard Pippin thank his fellow Hobbit, Boromir thought, _You think you look good, don't you, master Peregrin. You really think you are improving. Well, let's see what you've really got under this jacket of yours._

With a challenging grin, he quite suddenly urged them to go faster, and launched himself in a quick succession of attacks, hacking down on the poor Pippin, quite taken aback by the sudden fierceness of the Gondorian's moves.

He was pressed ever backwards until Boromir, not quite used to dealing with beings so… _vertically challenged_, hit him with the flat of his sword. With a small cry, the Hobbit fell.

Boromir looked down, making sure this lesson was learnt. Satisfied, he said, "Sorry," and extended his hand to help Pippin back up.

Not allowing for the fact that he was defeated, Pippin said to Merry, "Get him!"

Catching Boromir completely unawares, and screaming "For the Shire!" the Hobbits seized the proferred arm and pulled with all their might.

And Boromir was soon caught in a friendly fight. Aragorn came to them, sternly saying "Gentlemen, that's enough," but the Hobbits grabbed his legs, and he soon joined them in a bout of friendly mayhem. _Children, the lot of them_, thought Laurethiel. Yet at the same time she couldn't help but notice how transformed Boromir's face was when he laughed. Gone were the worries dreadfully sitting on his brow, and his eyes twinkled with unchecked happiness. _Why_, Laurethiel asked herself, _why, by the Valar, why does not the confounded Man smile more?_

However, her musings were soon interrupted by a worrisome Samwise Gamgee. Indeed, he of all people had noticed a strange cloud hovering in the south skies.

"What is that?" he asked, a dubitative edge to his voice.

"Nothing," Gimli answered. "It's just a wisp of cloud."

Laurethiel looked in the direction of the disturbance, and knew it was not a cloud. Elven eyesight was far better that that of Dwarves, and she saw strange edges to this dark form, too definite and moving too quickly for it to be only submitted to the whims of the wind.

At her side, Boromir had lost all pretense to play, and a veil of seriousness had fallen back upon his face. With a tight voice, he observed, "It's moving fast." After a second of closer scrutiny, he added the confirmation that this definitively wasn't a natural phenomenon.

"And against the wind," he said.

Legolas's sharp eyes were the first to identify the cause of such abnormal behaviour. With a sense of dread going down his spine, he exclaimed, "Crebain form Duneland!" he eclaimed, naming the spies of Saruman.

Aragorn reacted swiftly. Urgently, he ordered all around to "HIDE!" as quickly as they could.

Boromir grabbed Merry, Aragorn took charge of Frodo, Sam put out the fire and all went to conceal themselves in cracks of rock.

Laurethiel was huddled close to her brother, her hands over her ears as she tried to stiffle the creatures' soul-ripping cries.

It seemed forever until they went away back to their master.

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf said, confirming Laurethiel's deepest fears. "The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras," he said, turning himself towards the Misty Mountains.

* * *

The trek up the Caradhras was no small feat, Laurethiel soon determined. If not for her mithril determination and the promise she had made to Arwen, the Princess of Mirkwood would have sorely been tempted to abandon this Quest and go back to Imladris. But she had set this task before herself, and would not stop until she saw the Ring plumetting down in the Chasm of the Orodruin. 

She had been a ways back behind Frodo, when she saw the Hobbit loose his footing, and come tumbling down till he met with Aragorn's feet. Frantically, he searched his neck for the Ring, and began to panick when he didn't find It.

Up ahead, Boromir found it in the snow. Laurethiel watched, helpless, as she saw his eyes look strangely at the Ring. Not heeding Aragorn's cry of "Boromir!", the son of Denethor said with an eerily even tone, "It is strange that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing," he added in seeming wonder, his left hand going up to close around the Ring.

"Boromir!" Aragorn said again. "Give back the Ring to Frodo."

Boromir locked his gaze with Aragorn's for a split secont, and his eyes focused back to the present. Looking as if he was shaking himself from a trance, he said, "As you wish."

As he gave back the Ring to its Bearer, he ruffled Frodo's hair and said, "I care not."

But it seemed to Laurethiel that he sought more to convince himself than anyone else. And her heart was dearly saddened for it.

Their progress, apart from that incident, was steady.

Yet, the nearer they got to the Pass of the Red Horn, the worse the weather conditions got, until it was with some difficulty that they could advance in the snow ever piling up more before them.

The wind was blowing so harshly that Laurethiel almost didn't hear her brother say with great suspicion, "There is a fell voice in the air."

All stopped, and they could clearly hear a deep voice reverberating itself in the echoes of the mountain.

Gandalf knew that voice well, and soon recognised it. "It's Saruman!" he said.

Aragorn understood the White Wizard's intent. "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf woudn't be deterred. Stepping up, he chanted, "Losto Carhadras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!" _Sleep well, Red Horn, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!_

But Saruman was determined to have the last word on this matter. As soon as Gandalf had attempted his spell, a powerful voice was heard in the gorges of the Red Horn, so powerful Laurethiel shivered, and she knew it was not from the cold, as Elves are bothered by neither cold nor heat.

"Cuiva nwalca Carnirassë! Nai yarvaxëa rasselya taltuva ñotto-carrinar!" _Wake up cruel Redhorn! May your blood-stained horn fall upon the enemy heads!_

A bolt of lightning came crashing down just above their heads, an enormous chunk of snow detached itself from the mountain's side to bore down on the ten comapnions, and the members of the Fellowship only had time to fling themselves on the rock wall behind them, ere they fell down the cliff, taken by the snow.

Laurethiel emerged from the snow piled atop of her, brushing off any excess. And most of all, trying to clean her neck: she did_ not_ want to have snow melting down her spine. The fact that Elves were not affected by the cold was irrelevant at that point, as Elves were most definitively able to feel clammy wetness.

Looking around her to see if anyone needed her aid, she noticed Boromir trying to get the Hobbits out of the snow. Walking over, she helped him unburden himself, then offered her hand to help him get out of this freezing nightmare.

For one split second, Boromir thought of refusing the proffered hand. He was perfectly able to pull himself out, thank you! But then, how do you say no to a lady? To a lady-Elf, at that? As much as Boromir was proud, he did not see how his honor would be insulted if he was courteous enough to accept a lady's help.

With a nod, Boromir took Laurethiel's hand.

Boromir was almost out of his predicament when Laurethiel felt her feet beginning to slip. She tried to regain her balance while the Gondor Captain finished climbing out of the snow. For Elves _never_ disgraced themselves with such unappropriate movements as slipping.

Nevertheless, she slipped.

Right into Boromir's arms.

She felt a rumble start in the Man's chest, a rumble that amplified until the Captain of Gondor suddenly burst out laughing, throwing his head back and displaying his powerful neck.

Laurethiel was incensed. The Man actually _dared_ to laugh!

She looked squarely at him, fully ready to have Boromir stop this instant. And caught the mirth in his eyes.

It was a look of such unadulterated joy that Laurethiel felt her anger melt like so much snow in the sun, and quickly found herself adding her chime-like laugh to Boromir's own deep chuckle.

Their combined laughter echoed in the frosty air of the Misty Mountains, like a challenging cry against all Evil.

And for the first time, Boromir _really_ saw Laurethiel.

Her smile had completely transformed her face. It gave her an appearance of youthful carelesness, making her seem suddenly so much more _alive_, so much like the young woman she must be to her people. She looked like who she could have been, had not the Enemy come to put wordless worries on her brow. It made Boromir all the more determined to draw Sauron from this land once and for all so that all maids in Middle-Earth might enjoy many more such moments of pure happiness.

Laurethiel noticed Boromir's mouth curl, noticed the shift of emotion in his eyes, the way his grey irises took a stormy quality. And quite suddenly, she felt trapped in the Gondorian's arms, not really knowing what to do to get out of Boromir's grasp, obviously not having been in such a position before, but not really daring to upset the Man's volatile temper.

Until her common sense came back to her.

She maintained a firm grip of Boromir while she slowly disengaged herself from the Gondorian's embrace, making them return to the matter at hand. After all, she was quite steady now. Or was she?

Now was not the time to ask herself questions, she admonished herself. They first had to find another way to go around the Misty Mountains before she could allow herself the luxury of introspection.

Boromir, also bringing his attention back to where it should be, exclaimed, "The Hobbits will not last much longer. We must get off the mountain!"

Laurethiel looked at him with an amused look. Could he say something that wasn't so obvious? Propose another path, maybe?

As if answering her, Boromir quickly added, "We must make for the Gap of Rohan! Or take the west road to my city!"

Aragorn turned his head in Boromir's direction, feeling in his heart that the Ring was already making its way in Boromir's soul. _It_ had chosen well, he tought cynically. Boromir wanted so much to do what was _right_. So much that if the son of Denethor was not careful, he might just end up doing the very opposite of his intent. Countering Boromir's offer, he said, "The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard."

To himself, he added, _And I will _never_ bring Isildur's Bane any closer to Minas Tirith than I have to. I will not have history repeat itself again. Men will not get closer to the Ring than they must if I can do _anything_ about_ _it_.

Gimli, seeing very well this was going nowhere near a solution, thought of the Mines of Khazad-Dûm. Ah! to see fellow Dwarves again! To be able to rest in friendly surroundings!

"If we cannot pass over a mountain, let us go under it!" he said. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria!"

Gandalf felt an icy shiver run down his spine at the mention of this doomed name, a shiver he knew had nothing to do with the freezing cold of the mountain. He heard Saruman's voice echo in his head. _Moria. You fear to go into those mines. The Dwarves dwelved too greedily and too deep. You know what they awoke there in the darkness of _Khazad-Dûm_. Shadow. And flame_.

Closing his eyes to master his dread, he opened them and declared, "Let the Ringbearer decide..."

Boromir reminded them of the urgency of their decision. "We cannot stay here!" he said. "This will be the death of the Hobbits!" And indeed, when Laurethiel looked down at Merry and Pippin, she noticed they truly were in dire need of a good fire. Or some more agreeable weather, at the very least.

Looking deep in the Hobbit's eyes, Gandalf asked, "Frodo?"

Feeling the weight of such a decision, Frodo took a moment to think about it. Agreeing with Aragorn, he did not think it wise to bring the Ring closer to Isengard than absolutely necesary. And while he did not like mines anymore than any normal Hobbit should - for they were dark and chilly places - he liked the idea of going to Minas Tirith even less. If Boromir was any representative of the Men there, then his quest would soon come to an end if the Ring was ever seen in the White City.

Choosing the lesser of two evils, he said, "We will go through the Mines."

The Ainur had decided, Gandalf thought. With a resigned but calm voice, he said those sealing words, "So be it."


End file.
